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Mayhem PD looked the same as it always did, like every other cop shop around the world. The interrogation room was the same box with three chairs set up around a short, wobbly table. The only difference was the lack of flicker on the fluorescent light overhead. The walls were a combination of olive and puke green, which was strangely more soothing than they probably thought it would be.
The door opened and instead of the detectives from earlier; it was the woman who had shown up at my house the other day. Jag had put together a file on Agent Beck and her partner, Baxter Marshall, who entered behind her and spoke first, introducing them both.
“Sorry I missed you the other day, Agent Beck. What’s this about?”
Beck’s blue eyes glared at me. “We ask the questions.”
I smiled at her horrible attempt at being the bad cop. “So you’re saying I don’t have a right to know why the federal government had me brought in under false pretenses to question me?”
Marshall glared back at Addison Beck, who was like a redheaded chihuahua, all bark and bravado, with no bite.
“We have some questions about Brendan Rhymer. We recently found his body under suspicious circumstances.”
“Suspicious? Is there any other way for a gangster to die?”
Agent Beck slammed her petite hands on the metal desk. The sound echoed in the small room. “He was stripped naked and pumped full of lead. You know anything about that?”
I knew that Jasper and Terry had taken care of wiping the bodies and the scene clean and dumped him at the same shitty motel Savannah had been in, a clear sign to the fucking Black Jacks.
“Nope. Not a damn thing. Can’t say I’m sorry to hear it, though.”
“So you’re happy he’s dead?”
“Aren’t you?” There was no love lost between The Crusaders and the Reckless Bastards, so there was no point pretending otherwise.
Marshall nodded. “We’re going to need to know your whereabouts when he was murdered.”
“Of course. When was he murdered?”
I sat up straight, but not too straight, and let my gaze bounce between the Feds to see how much they would give away.
Marshall was an open book, a rare honest G-Man, easily offering the details of when Brendan was last seen. Beck though, she was riled up. Angry. Savannah was right. She had ulterior motives.
“I said we ask the questions.”
“Okay. If you don’t know when he was murdered, how far back do you want my whereabouts?”
Marshall sighed. “Let’s start with Thursday, the 25th. That’s when he was last seen alive.”
“Okay, thank you, Agent Marshall. I was at a bachelor party for Virgil Ashby. He’s married to my cousin, Maisie. The party was at Lucky Lopez’s. You know, the titty bar in the Green Zone? There were at least three dozen people who saw me there.”
“Bullshit,” Beck roared. “We know you murdered him in retaliation for killing your whores.”
“Ooh, do I hear jealousy?” I smiled, and Marshall groaned because the chihuahua had just given away an important fact. “My employees were murdered long after the twenty-fifth, Agent Beck. How could I retaliate in advance?”
“We didn’t say he was killed on the twenty-fifth, we said that’s when he was last seen alive.”
“Okay, so what day do I need an alibi for? Or, you know what? Maybe this is something I should talk to my lawyer about.”
Marshall tensed, but Beck was too far gone, too eager to tread lightly. “Maybe your girlfriend would like to know that you’re suspected of murdering her brother?”
“Trying to shock me, Agent Beck?” I shook my head and turned my gaze to Marshall. “Maybe your partner would like to know you have a personal vendetta against the Ashby family and have been harassing people off the clock.”
Two sets of eyes widened in shock, but for different reasons. Marshall recovered first. “The titty bar. That’s your alibi?”
I nodded. “Dude, It’s not just a titty bar. You ever been there? Nice place for the sticks.” I rubbed my crotch, and said, “Go see Hootie and tell her I sentcha.”
“Your alibi, Mr. Ellison.”
“Okay. Friday was the bachelor party. Saturday was the wedding, and the reception lasted well into Sunday morning. It was a whole family affair.”
And it was good to know they were just fishing if they couldn’t even pinpoint his time of death. “Is that all?”
Beck shook her head so fast, the tight bun uncoiled to reveal thick red curls. “Why is Savannah Rhymer staying at your house?”
“Found her fucked up on the side of the road. Thought she might be useful in the future. You know how it is.”
“She looked pretty comfortable there,” Beck insisted, her voice heavy with insinuation.
I shrugged and stood. “Turns out that I’m a better host than the Black Jacks, but I suspect you already know that Agent Beck.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
